Noah picked up the meter.
He checked the leads.
Adjusted the dial.
The movements came without hesitation.
Procedural memory.
His body knew the sequence.
I watched him test continuity across the first switch.
The meter sounded.
Noah smiled.
It transformed him.
Not into the man from before.
Into himself.
“I need tags,” he said.
Caleb brought them.
“Fine marker.”
Owen placed one beside his hand.
“Wiring diagram?”
“Missing.”
Noah’s smile widened.
“Perfect.”
I left him to work.
Not alone.
Caleb remained in the loft replacing a canvas hatch cover. Owen came and went with parts. I moved between the ferry preparations and the doorway, pretending not to check every few minutes.
Noah traced circuits.
He muttered to himself.
He discovered one bilge-alarm relay had been bypassed with a direct bridge.
“Whoever did this should be denied access to tools,” he said.
Caleb glanced over.
“You said that about Reid once.”
“I was right.”
